


Closed for Renovations

by bluejorts



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: All Human AU, Come Eating, Comeplay, Daddy Kink, Eating out, Edgeplay, Enthusiastic Consent, Exhibitionism, Frottage, Human Connor (Detroit: Become Human), M/M, Roleplay, Rough Sex, Spanking, Teacher/Student Roleplay, Trans Connor, Trans Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Trans Male Character, Trans Porn by Trans People, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, WELL ITS DONE NOW I GUESS, ass eating, i dont know how to tag this holy shit, mlm author, this is. a long. very self indulgent. mess of porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-03
Updated: 2019-01-03
Packaged: 2019-10-03 15:43:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17286878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluejorts/pseuds/bluejorts
Summary: Connor has something he wants to try, and an open opportunity to do so. Hank thinks he's trying to kill him dick first.





	Closed for Renovations

**Author's Note:**

> okay so theres like. no backstory in this au it exists solely so these guys can FUCK: connor is a university professor because uh, it gives me an excuse, and hank is a maker of Some Sort. 
> 
> connor is trans! i use 'pussy' and 'labia' to refer to his junk as well as 'dick' so please be safe, and if youre gonna leave transphobic comments please make sure youre logged in so i can find you and shred your favourite shirt :)

“You want  _ what _ ?” 

“Do you want more detail?”

“No! Well - yeah! That’s no small ask, Connor.” 

“I want you to fuck me in the lecture hall at the college that they just shut for renovations.” 

“Is that  _ safe _ ? If they just shut it? Nothing like, dangerous in there?” 

Connor rolls his eyes. “Yes, Hank. It’s safe. They’re redoing the panelling so that the acoustics are better - it’s purely cosmetic. Bringing it into the modern day, they say.” 

“And nobody would… interrupt us?” 

“They wouldn’t, no. I can make sure of that.”

Hank runs a hand down his face. They’re sat on the couch, TV in front of them muted. Connor is lying across his lap, still managing to look formal about it, as he always does. His hands folded in his lap, feet crossed at the ankle on the arm of the chair. 

“And you want to be…” He trails off, not sure how to phrase the next part of Connor’s request. 

“I want you to invite people to watch us.” 

“This is a little different than a club, Con. I can’t promise anyone would be into it.”

“Isn’t it worth asking?” 

Hank opens his mouth, shuts it, and nods mutely. It’s not like he hasn’t done kinkier stuff, hell, it’s not like  _ they  _ haven’t done kinkier stuff. But usually that stuff is within the safety of their home or a club. At Connor’s workplace? That’s a whole fucking different story! The possibility of people walking in, seeing them like that, is…

Well, shit. It’s  _ hot _ . But aside from that, it’s nerve inducing. It’s illegal! Hank isn’t sure if anyone he knows would be into it, doesn’t even know if they’d condone it. He’s sure they could find someone who could build a set within their normal club; a stage and rows of seats, light it perfectly so that everyone can see him plow Connor against the podium and - shit. It’s  _ really _ hot. 

And it’s worth a try. Worth a message. Right? Right. 

He digs around down the side of the couch for his phone, and pulls up his contacts, carefully going through them and selecting names he knows are regulars at the clubs he and Connor frequent. Carefully  _ not  _ highlighting names of people who wouldn't be into this, like his mom, or their dentist. 

He drafts his text a couple of times, keeping it bare bones, nothing wildly scandalous, even though his dick has decided this is the most horny text he's ever written and is rising like it's trying to read it from his hands.

And he sends it, and he throws his phone into Sumo's bed.

“Asked.” He croaks out, feeling his face flush as he meets Connor's eyes. Connor smiles - more of a smirk, really, the bastard - and shifts himself sideways, nuzzling his face into Hank's belly in a way that makes Hank's pants shift uncomfortably. 

“Thank you, Daddy.” 

“Mmh.”

“Do you want a reward for doing that?” 

Hank half-snorts, preoccupied as Connor finds the button of his jeans with his teeth. “A reward? You trying your hand domming me, baby?” 

Connor wrinkles his nose and gets the first button undone. “No. Not even remotely. You're too much work, you never do what I say.” 

Hank full belly laughs at that. “Like you do what I fuckin’ say! Bratty asshole.” 

Connor takes his mouth away from the buttons to pout and pops them out quickly with his fingers. 

“I'm good when I want to be.” He states, that matter of fact tone Hank suspects he uses to scold his students in the classroom.

“What about when  _ I  _ want you to -” Hank's sentence is cut short by a groan when Connor pulls his dick out of his boxers and closes his lips around it. Fuck. 

He doesn't get a text back about their plan until the next day during work, when he gets five at once. He nearly drops a litre of resin on his foot and gets shit about that from Reed for an hour. But he doesn't dare open the messages until he's somewhere alone and safe and without security cameras because he's not _paranoid_ so to speak but he doesn't trust the people watching the feeds and what if they can zoom in really far and see the messages and then he gets into trouble for it and - he leaves his phone in the break room for the rest of the day. 

When he gets out of work, there are eight messages to be answered, and he sits in the car for a good ten minutes watching maker videos on YouTube before he opens the first. It's a resounding yes. Huh. He goes to the next, another yes. The third is a maybe on the basis that they aren't free for the next month and the sixth is a no on moral and legal grounds, but the rest are all positive, as are the next four that come in between him setting off for the house and sticking his phone on charge that night. Huh.

In the end, of the thirty one people Hank invited, twenty six respond positively. He tells Connor only once all responses have come in, and Connor puts it upon himself to have this organised within the next week, since construction work begins in the hall the week after. Hank lets him deal with that, because he wouldn't know where to start, and even thinking about why they're organising this has his heart racing at a pace that can't be healthy.

And, credit where it's due by Sunday Hank is being led by the hand through the darkened halls of the now closed west wing of the college, followed by a stream of eager guests, post having a group meal at a nearby restaurant.

It feels like some kind of a tour as they pass by unlit classrooms, a shoe squeaking repetitively on the floor. They've taken the long route to avoid passing by the library, which is open twenty four hours. Every closed door they reach, Connor opens with his fob and they all pass through quietly. It feels like the hallway never ends. Until it does, and Connor opens a door marked ‘closed for renovation’ and pulls Hank through. 

The hall is lit by late afternoon light through high windows, casting softly over the seating. It looks a picture, and Hank can feel the unwillingness of the group to disturb that. Until Connor turns the lights on and they burst into a chatter. 

“What are we doin’ first then, Hank?” Someone comes up and pats him on the shoulder. 

“Uh, Con has some shit to say on hygiene. And then some scene setting for sure, more than what we talked about earlier.” 

“We gonna sit for that?” 

“No clue.” He turns to call to his partner, who is showing people where to leave their coats. “Connor, they sitting for the chat or no?” 

“I think yes.” Connor nods. He's wearing his glasses, which in and of themselves always make Hank a little flustered.

The person that had asked shoots Connor a thumbs up and shakes their coat off to hang with everyone else's before they sit in amongst the rows of seating. Hank's pleased to see that people stuck with the 'smart casual’ dress code. It makes him feel less stiff in the suit he's wearing that Connor bought specially. It's form fitting, for sure, but thankfully not too tight.

The group sit, leaving him standing with Connor at the front, picking nervously at his cufflinks. Connor places a hand on his back as he starts his little speech, taking on a tone Hank has heard when he's snuck into lectures to surprise him. 

“Alright everyone, welcome.” He smiles warmly. “I think we covered a good number of concerns and questions over food. As we said, Hank will be playing the role of the Professor, and, ah, I will be a student. You’re all here along for the ride. Masturbation is of course encouraged, but neither of us will be offended if you just wanted to watch. As for hygiene, this room is due to be completely cleaned and cleared before its renovation, but I have made sure to stock cleaning supplies. If you get anything anywhere, please do clean up.” He moves his hand from Hank’s back and clasps them together in front of him. “Oh, and one last thing.” A lopsided smile. “There might be homework.” 

That gains a low laugh and a round of applause and Connor gives a small, cheeky bow. He kisses Hank on the cheek and stretches up to whisper in his ear.

“Your turn, Daddy.”

Which, okay. That gets him going. Hank stops fiddling with his cuffs, straightens them, and rolls his shoulders like a wrestler. He walks up onto the stage, noting the table in the centre and the podium to the right, planning all the best ways to show Connor off. Connor has sat down in the front row, one of the seats closest to the aisle to make it easier to move out. His hair is a little messy, shirt unbuttoned at the top. Absolutely  _ not  _ what Hank imagines he wore to school. But he’s wearing it now, and it looks hot as all hell. 

Hank steps forward into the scene, not getting into any kind of headspace yet, just trying on his character.

“Evening everyone.” Professor Anderson lifts his voice and lets it travel. He gets a cheery response from everyone but Connor. Hm, brat. “Now, as you’re all aware, I’ve finished grading your last essays. And I’m pleased to say you all got A’s.” A brief cheer. “All but one of you.” A wave of ‘ooooh’s (and God if  _ that  _ doesn’t make Hank feel like he’s in an actual lesson). “Connor didn’t make the mark on this essay, and since it was his last chance to pass this class, I offered him some extra credit. And for that he offered to help me with this lesson.” 

He gestures for Connor to come out from the seating and join him on the stage, which Connor does willingly. 

“But here’s the thing.” Hank smirks. “You all passed this class, you don’t need any more lessons.” He stalks around Connor, walking close enough that he can see his breath ruffle the hairs on his neck. “But Connor does.” He comes back around to the side he’d been stood at to begin with, and smooths a hand over Connor’s hair. He meets his eyes, dark and wide, and then lets his own wander. Looks at the hair he’s just messed up even more; his earlobes dusted pink; his mouth, the corner of which is ticking upwards trying to keep back a smile, which makes  _ Hank  _ want to smile, so he looks away to the audience. “Connor really needs to be taught a lesson. Don’t you think, Connor?”

“Yes sir.” 

Hank looks back to him. There’s no smile threatening to break out now, Connor looks every bit an obedient boy, handsome face sincere and eager.

“Now, how should I teach this lesson?” Hank wonders. “Any suggestions?” 

“Bend him over that desk.” Someone calls. 

“That's an idea.” Hank lowers his voice, so just Connor can hear. “Bet you've thought about that one, huh?” 

Connor shivers, inclines his head in an almost embarrassed nod.

Hank grins, leans away and shakes his head. “Maybe it a little bit. How should I  _ start _ though?” He taps his chin and before anybody can answer, he hums. “I think I know.” Audience participation is fun and all, but Hank has a pretty clear plan. 

He moves behind Connor and wraps his arms around his waist. 

“Still enjoying this?” 

“Mh. Yeah.”

“Alright. You tell me if it gets too much, right?”

“As always, Hank.”

“Just makin’ sure.”

“You’re sweet like that.” 

“Mhm.” 

The next thing Hank does he’s not sure counts as sweet. He reaches around and tugs Connor’s shirt from his pants, shoving it up to show off his stomach, and then his chest. He’s fully aware of how big his hands are compared to Connor. He holds Connor’s shirt up with one, which spans practically the width of his chest, and his other deftly pops open the buttons on his pants. 

“Connor  _ is  _ gonna help me teach you. An anatomy lesson.” 

Connor blows out air in a quiet approximation of a laugh and Hank pinches the fat on his stomach. Such a brat. 

“Take your shirt off.” He orders. Connor complies immediately, obedient as ever despite the laughing. With difficulty (since Hank’s hand pushing the shirt up makes it hard to access the buttons in any kind of order) he gets it off. And Hank is pleased to see that he’s worn nothing underneath. 

“Now. Lets start up here.” Hank announces, using his best ‘educational’ voice. “Under all of this, we have a skeleton.” He rubs his hand over Connor’s chest. “Sternum.” Two fingers press a line up the middle. “Clavicle.” Across the line of bone to Connor’s shoulder. “Scapula.” He circles his hand around Connor’s shoulder to the blade, running his fingers around it. Connor shivers as his touch moves from hard to soft and he tilts his head to the side when Hank traces up his neck. “And we have his spine.” He guides Connor to stand sideways, so that the room can see Hank’s hand, fingers on his spine and thumb rubbing a circle into the side of his neck. There’s a tug of arousal in his gut when he notices people with hands in their laps, clearly enjoying the show already. 

“His spine begins up here, but it finishes -” he trails his hand down Connor’s back slowly. “At the tailbone. Which we can’t reach with these on.” He tugs at the waistband of Connor’s jeans, which are at this point being held on only because Hank is holding the front in his fist. “Time to take them off, I think.” 

A murmur of distracted agreement comes from their audience. Hank lets go of the front of the pants and they fall to settle lower on Connor’s hips, but that just won’t do, so he pushes them roughly to the floor and helps Connor to step out of them. Connor is bare under these as well, and Hank gives him a hum of praise, retraces his path down his spine. 

“Now, we were at his tailbone, yes?” 

Connor nods, looking ahead of him. 

“Good.” Hank coos. “Now, what comes next.” 

The realisation hits him that fuck, he doesn’t know any more bones. He wants to travel down Connor’s legs, tease him by passing so close to his holes, but he can’t do that because he  _ can’t remember the names of the fucking leg bones. _

“How about we move up a layer, hm? Teach you all about muscles.” Something Hank is familiar with, knows the names of from all the times he’s been to see people about his own muscles aching and straining (and before that, from when he used to go to the gym regularly). “Let’s start from the beginning, hm?” He hooks his arms over Connor’s shoulders. “We’ve got your pecs. Pectorals.” He massages them with his thumbs, keeping just above Connor’s nipples, feeling the tension in the muscles. He follows Connor’s sternum again with both hands, moving them out to his sides once he’s under Connor’s pecs. “Obliques.” He feels the muscles over Connor’s ribs, slides his fingers over them. Connor shivers again. Hank settles his head over Connor’s left shoulder, to give himself the best view of that pretty face, all flushed and red. As he moves down Connor’s stomach he keeps his voice loud enough that the room can hear, but mutters praise in between muscles, tells Connor he’s being  _ so  _ good, standing perfectly for him. 

He moves down Connor’s back again, keeping his head on his shoulder, his breath in his ear. And he reaches the swell of Connor’s ass, trails his fingers along an imaginary line where back ends and ass begins. Trails his hands outwards, to Connor’s sides, and back around to his front, Connor’s stomach jumping when he passes over sensitive points. He brings his hands back and stops them on Connor’s hips. Traces the ridges of his pelvis with his thumbs. He takes his head off of Connor’s shoulders and gets to his knees behind him.

He lists off muscles in Connor’s legs (some that may not be real, but nobody seems to care) and travels a spiral around Connor’s thighs, praise slipping from his mouth when Connor twitches as fingers pass over his inner thighs. He reaches Connor’s calves, presses his hands into them to feel the tension in the muscles keeping him standing. And then, as a reward for staying so still, he drops a kiss onto the inside of Connor’s knee. Connor takes in a shaky breath, and Hank allows himself a glance between his legs. 

Connor hasn’t moved enough to make a mess of himself, but Hank can see the wetness between his flushed lips. It makes his mouth water, wishing for a taste. And maybe it’s time to get that taste. Connor has stood still so well and for such a long time as Hank has teased him, maybe he deserves to be spread out and indulged in. But then, there  _ is  _ another layer to teach about. 

“Alright, now we have everything else.” With a little struggle, because he’s not as young as he used to be, he pulls himself to his feet and back into Connor’s personal space. He guides Connor to move again, back to facing the audience. “We’ll start right up here. With his hair.” He smooths Connor’s hair away from his forehead, lets it bounce back into place with whatever product Connor’s sprayed it full of, and then digs his fingers into it without warning. Connor gasps, eyes fluttering and rolling back, letting his neck loosen and giving Hank full control over the movement of his head. “Hair is a  _ very  _ good handhold. And Connor’s being a very good boy right now. I can do whatever I want with him.” To demonstrate, he pulls Connor’s head back, exposing his throat and watching his adam's apple move when he gulps. He rolls his head to the side, watching hungrily the muscles pulled taught. “Anything I want.” He murmurs, and presses his tongue against Connor’s skin. 

Connor shudders, full bodied, and Hank feels him try to pull against Hank’s hand to give him more, to stretch his head as far to the side as he can as incentive for Hank to move. Hank licks a slow line up to Connor’s jaw, over the racing of his pulse. He tastes of nothing much, his soap maybe, no sweat there yet. But still the taste, the combination of nothing and cleanliness, is decidedly Connor. 

Hank keeps his lips against Connor's neck as he speaks next, voice cracking into a deeper, more possessive tone. He can feel himself slipping properly into a headspace, and goes willingly. 

“Lips.” He growls. Connor's mouth falls open. Hank slips a finger in, presses it against Connor's tongue to keep his mouth open, not letting him close his lips around it. “Such a pretty mouth, hm?” He's still speaking loud, addressing the room. Not teaching, now, but showing his boy off. “Smart tongue. Sharp teeth.” He flicks his thumb over one of his canines. Connor swallows again, tongue pulling against Hank's finger. 

Hank hums and leans his head to properly take in the pretty face in front of him. “And those eyes.” The eyes that are currently in the back of his head, that blink to focus when Hank mentions them. “Look at them.” Hank orders. “Look at them all watching you.”

Connor does look, eyes wide, wandering the stands. Little shivers, little noises come out of him when he focuses on people, squirming under the attention. He shifts his hips, and Hank takes his hand out of Connor’s hair to still them. 

“Mm. We haven’t got down there yet, Connor. Stay still for me.” 

Connor squeaks what might be an apology, unintelligible with a finger still trapping his tongue. Hank kisses his neck. 

“And here.” 

He bites down softly, sucks a little, almost gentle. Like he doesn’t want to hurt Connor. But he knows Connor can take more, knows Connor  _ likes  _ more. So he adds pressure, adds suction until Connor is whimpering. Nips and bites until he’s breathing only in shudders and Hank can see him squeezing his fists shut so hard his knuckles turn white. When he takes his mouth away, the bruise left is purple, dark and sharp on Connor’s skin. He runs his tongue over it and along, to leave another equally dark mark closer to his shoulder. He watches delightedly how Connor shakes with the effort of not moving, listens to his beautiful, broken noises. 

“Such a good boy.” He whispers, when a third mark has been left. “Waiting so patiently. Letting me take my time in front of everyone.” He huffs a laugh. “Definitely getting that extra credit, Connor.”

Connor whines, an edge of frustration to it, his tongue curling around Hank’s finger. 

“Mhm. Where are my manners, I was teaching, wasn’t I?” Hank smirks. He kisses each of his marks and lifts his head, slipping his finger out of Connor’s mouth. “Now, class. Let’s move down.” He settles his hands on Connor’s shoulders and slides them down his front, pressing down into soft flesh and leaning his head over Connor’s shoulder to watch the way his hands encompass his whole chest, Connor looking so small like that. 

“Such a pretty chest.” Hank hums. “Handsome.” He reaches Connor’s nipples, already hard, and pinches one with two fingers. Not very hard, not yet. Connor’s mouth shuts with a clack and he swallows, head falling back, brows furrowing. A small noise escapes him, needy, deep in the back of his throat. Hank wants more, so he takes Connor’s other nipple between his fingers as well, pinches and rolls them, watches the flush that he brings, the pink-purple colour they turn.

And he gets more noises. Connor tries to bite them back, keep them in (because he knows just how much Hank likes them, and he likes to get Hank to push him), but they sound regardless, loud in the quiet room. Grunting, whining, caught breaths that make his chest swell into the teasing fingers. They’re pretty; pretty noises from that handsome face. Hank kisses his cheek, murmurs praise at an octave that comes from deep in his belly, a smooth growl in Connor’s ear. 

“Shall we move on?” Hank asks the room. Connor groans, a soft ‘no’ falling from his lips. But the consensus is yes, so Hank pinches one last time and trails downward. “Gotta keep going, Connor. This is a lesson, remember?”

“Y-yes sir.” Connor whimpers. 

“Good boy. Turn around.” Hank moves his hands to turn Connor at the waist, stands still and waits until Connor is facing him. Big, brown eyes stare up at him under short lashes. Connor’s face is red from the effort of holding back his noises, his bottom lip swollen from biting. He looks up at Hank like he’s awaiting instructions, obedient and still. 

Then he winks, mouth pulling up into a smug smile. A challenge, a ‘you haven’t broken me yet’. Brat.

“Enjoying yourself there, Connor?” Hank hums, pushing into his space even more, until the front of his jacket brushes against Connor’s bare skin. 

“Yes, sir.” Connor licks his lips. 

“Good. Stay still now.” 

Hank slips his hands back and lower, pressing right up against his partner, looking down to catch his expression when he squeezes his ass. Connor’s eyes roll back a little, lips parting. 

“There we go.” Hank hums. He pulls Connor against him like that, a hand on either cheek. He noses at Connor’s neck, the opposite side now to where he’d left his marks. When he runs his tongue up this time, there’s a slight tang of salt, a testament to how hard Connor had been focusing on keeping his noises in. He kneads at Connor’s ass, spreading his cheeks and keeping his fingers just  _ that _ close to his holes. His tongue becomes lips becomes teeth again, marking this side up the same as the other, with loud, dark marks that are gonna hurt tomorrow. 

Connor’s resolve breaks. His mouth opens and he moans properly, loud, all the air in his lungs coming out. Hank praises him, pats his ass and calls him good; tells him to let it all out, let everyone hear him. It is a  _ lesson  _ after all. Words make their way into the moaning. ‘Yes, sir’ and ‘please, sir’ and little sighs of ‘ _ Professor _ ’ that Hank’s dick pays particular attention to. 

“Do you want more, Connor?” Hank asks, hands still grabbing and manhandling. 

“Please, sir.” 

“What was that? Make sure everyone can hear you, Connor.”

“ _ Please _ . Sir.”

“Good boy.” Hank kisses Connor’s cheek and pulls away again. His face is even more red, eyes squeezed shut, mouth open and tongue resting on his bottom lip. Hank swipes his finger across that tongue, giving Connor a fleeting taste of his skin. “Now, for the next thing, you need to sit for me.” 

Connor’s eyes fly open, blinking focused. He nods eagerly. 

“Where?”

“Where what?”

“Where do you want me to sit?”

Hank shakes his head. “Not what I meant. Where  _ what _ ?”

Connor gulps. “Where, sir?” 

“Much better.” Hank strokes his hair softly. “Desk. Now.” 

Connor nods again and practically scampers over to hop onto the table, sitting with his back straight, ankles crossed and hands in his lap. He looked vulnerable before, small and naked in Hank’s arms, but now Hank feels positively predatory approaching him, the way his pale skin stands stark and soft against the hard lines of the room. 

“Spread your legs.” Hank orders. Connor does so immediately, pulling his knees up to give the best view of the flushed, wet lips of his pussy. The straining of his dick. “Good.” Hank considers for a second, stuck on the best way to do this. He could stand in front of him, but that would block the audience’s view. He could stand to the side? No, his angle would be weird. He could - oh. 

Hank grins. 

“Now. We’re gonna look at his pussy.” He says, tucking his thumb behind his belt buckle and nodding from the audience to Connor. “As I’m sure you can see. He’s already  _ soaking _ for us.” 

Connor bites his lip and looks between his legs, as if he himself was only just made aware of this fact. 

“And, he’s gonna lie down for me.” Hank says. “Side on, Con.”

Connor frowns for a second as he works out what that means, but then he gets it; twists on his ass so that his pussy is presented towards Hank and carefully lies down. His knees are still in the air, and they’re the first thing Hank touches, holds in his hands and spreads further apart. Connor stares up at him, lip still between his teeth. Hank runs his hands along Connor’s inner thighs. 

“Let’s see how wet you are, hm?” He says. “Want that, Connor?”

“Yessir.” Connor moans. His hands on the table are restless, tapping and opening and closing. It’s distracting. 

“Arms above your head.” Hank tells him. “Hold the edge of the table. And keep them there.”

Connor does so. His arms tense as he holds on for dear life, biceps straining. 

“Good.” Hank hums. His hands hit home, coming to rest either side of Connor’s junk, a brush of pubic hair against his skin. “Stay still.” 

He trails the tip of an index finger along Connor’s pussy, can feel already how slick and open he is. His finger comes away wet and he meets Connor's eye as he sucks it into his mouth. Connor gives up biting his lip, mouth instead falling open for his tongue to poke out.

“Want a taste?” Hank asks. 

“ _ Please _ .” 

“Should I give him a taste? What do you think?” He turns to the audience. “All in favour?” 

There's a breathy, amused call of 'aye’.

“That seems pretty conclusive, hm?” 

Connor nods up at him, cheeks flushed, chest heaving. Hank holds his eyes as he runs his finger again through the slick, and keeps them when he presses that finger against Connor’s lips. He opens up immediately, his tongue coming out to guide Hank’s finger into his mouth. When he has it, he closes his lips and  _ sucks _ . Sucks and licks and groans, brown eyes now half lidded but trapped by Hank’s still. Sucks as if he could get off on that alone.

Hank’s other hand is still on his inner thigh, and he slides it down, over Connor’s coarse hair, until the heel of his palm is on Connor’s dick. Connor’s hard - Hank would be surprised if he wasn’t, he himself is straining against his pants - the throb of a pulse through his dick when Hank holds still. 

“Do you want me to touch you, Connor?” Hank asks, voice low and teasing. 

Connor moans something that could be a yes, mouth opening just enough to be heard around Hank’s thick finger. 

“Ask nicely, Connor.” Hank pulls his finger out of Connor’s mouth, holding it just out of reach when he stretches his neck to follow. “Nicely.”

“Please, sir.” Connor chokes out, swallowing saliva that had been building as he’d focused on Hank’s finger. “Please. Please sir. Please Professor, I want it. I  _ really  _ want it.”

“Good.” Hank pats his cheek lightly and slides two fingers into his open mouth, letting Connor suck at them for a moment before he gives his dick the attention he wants. Obscene noises come from between his fingers as Connor licks at them, spit gathering on his bottom lip. 

Hank grinds his hand into Connor’s dick and feels his pleasure in the way his mouth loses suction, sees it in how his eyes roll back in their sockets. He grins and presses his fingers into Connor’s tongue, reminding him to keep going, telling him without words that if he doesn’t pay attention to the one, he doesn’t get the other. 

When Connor gets back to sucking, bobbing his head upwards to blow Hank’s fingers, Hank gives another press of his hand. Connor doesn’t stop this time, so Hank hums approvingly and slides his hand down, palm pressing against the flesh of Connor’s lips, and fingers tease over his dick. He takes it between two fingers, cute little thing that it is, and tugs on it just a little. Connor whines, tongue flicking at the gap between Hank’s fingers, eyes fluttering closed. 

“Makes such pretty noises, doesn’t he?” Hank sighs. “Such a good boy.” He tugs on Connor’s dick again, pushes it back. “So good.”

He starts to jerk Connor off in earnest, the flick of his arm pushing apart Connor’s lips, smearing his wet over Hank’s wrist. Connor moans, runs his teeth over Hank’s fingers as well as his tongue, his eyes shut tight. 

He starts to buck into the touch, so Hank pulls his hand away and presses it into his hip. 

“Did I say you could move?” He growls. A full bodied shiver from Connor. A shake of his head, eyes open like a deer in headlights, pupils blown wide. “Stay still.” 

Connor nods emphatically, sucking Hank’s fingers hard again, a promise that he will. Hank rubs his hand gently over where he dug his fingers in and then smooths it over Connor’s stomach and back down to take Connor’s dick in his fingers again.

He starts slow, testing Connor's patience, making sure he doesn't give in and move. To his credit, even though his thighs are quivering with the effort, he stays stock still, so Hank speeds up his movement. He tugs Connor off until he can feel the loosening of his mouth and see the telltale shortness of his breath. Waits until what he thinks is the very last second and then pulls his hand off completely. Connor whimpers like a wounded animal, knuckles white as he clutches at the table and chest heaving. His dick throbs visibly, but Hank doesn't go back to touching it yet, that would be far too nice of him. 

Instead he runs his index finger through the wetness between Connor's lips, pushing in and scooping out, watching the sticky strings of it pull away. He wipes his finger on Connor's thigh, a pretty slick spot that he makes a note to touch with his tongue later if he gets the chance. He makes lazy spirals over that thigh, drawing his hand back down and down until his spirals end in the crease between groin and leg. 

He uses two fingers to push apart Connor's labia, spreading him open as best he can. He's obviously aroused, even with this little effort Hank can see the way he opens up for him. He moves his hand to keep Connor spread with his ring finger and runs his middle down through him, over hard ridges to Connor's entrance. 

Connor has gotten distracted, forgotten to suck, and Hank looks up at him expectantly. His face is red, maybe from the strain as he cranes his head to watch Hank's fingers on him, eyes laser focused, blinking rapidly or not at all. Hank breathes a laugh and pulls his hand out of Connor's mouth. 

There's a whine, a small pout, but Connor doesn't complain at his loss, probably because he knows that if he does, Hank won't go where he's about to. Good. He's learning to behave. Positive reinforcement, that's what he needs. 

Hank bites back a dumb smile at that thought and brings his eyes back to Connor's pussy. He gently runs the tip of his finger over the muscle of Connor's hole, mouth watering when he feels it contract at the stimulus. 

He presses inside slowly, so so slowly. The very tip until just past his fingernail, a few seconds of pause, then up to his first knuckle, pause, his second, pause. Connor tries not to squirm as he does, his muscles tense, pussy tightening around Hank's finger at the effort to keep still. His toes clench and unclench over the edge of the table, head fallen back between arms pushed together at the elbows. Hank pushes as deep as he can get with his finger and leaves it there, waiting for Connor to relax. He knows him too well, if Connor stays this tense he'll get a cramp in his calf and they'll have to stop, which is the least sexy thing Hank thinks could happen during this.

Connor does relax, slowly and shakily letting his legs fall to the sides, feet relaxed and - when Hank gives one a prod with his elbow - loose at the ankles. The muscles inside of Connor loosen too, softer around Hank's finger. 

He presses a kiss to Connor's stomach as a reward, a 'good job baby’. Connor sighs, elbows moving apart and revealing that handsome face, open mouthed with already hazy brown eyes. 

Hank pulls his finger out with a little more speed. Not much, but enough that Connor only shudders, body staying lax. And again he presses it in quicker, until he has a steady, lazy rhythm going that pushes soft sounds out of Connor with every thrust. With his outward movements, Hank pulls more of Connor's wetness out of him, making a mess of his hand and dampening down Connor's pubic hair around it. He pushes a second finger in without warning, grinning at how Connor gasps and clenches around him like he wants to pull them deeper than they'll go.-

He picks up his pace then until it's ruthless, and the sounds he punches out of Connor are harsh, rough pleasure. The force of his arm has Connor's stomach shaking, him adjusting his hands constantly as though he'll fly off the table. 

Hank presses the tips of his fingers upwards into the soft muscle of Connor's walls, keeps his eyes on Connor's face to gauge his reaction. But that's completely unnecessary, he knows when he hits the spot when Connor's whole body shudders into jelly, his arms falling to the sides, too overwhelmed by the pleasure to grab at anything, eyes rolled back into his head. Hank fucks in against that spot, cuff of his shirt tight on his wrist, arm working hard enough that it brings up his heart rate. And Connor makes these perfect sounds, these little mewls and whimpers, needy and unchained. Sometimes his mouth manages to form a ‘Ha-’ but he doesn’t seem able to finish the name, it picks up into an ‘ _ aaah _ ’ or an ‘ _ mmmhh _ ’ and he squeezes his eyes shut. 

The movement comes back to him as he gets closer to the edge, the way Hank slams his fingers into him curling his toes, bringing tension to his pecs. His arms slide down the table to grab at the sides, giving the room a better view of his head thrown back. Hank presses his other hand against Connor's stomach and pushes down, pressing Connor's walls in around his fingers and giving himself an easier way to push against his g-spot. 

“ _ Sir _ .” Connor yelps, “Fuck, sir. Yes.” His words fade back into garbled pleasure, not a shred of coherency to them past ‘sir’s and ‘please’s and ‘yes, fuck, please’. Hank pats his stomach with his fingers, keeping the heel of his hand pressed firmly down. He watches again as Connor tenses and coils and shakes as he comes closer and closer to something resembling an orgasm. Hank knows he can’t come without attention on his dick, though, and that works to his favor. He keeps going until Connor is whining with frustration and begging  _ please please please _ and then, again, he stops. His fingers freeze, deep in Connor’s pussy, and Connor groans. 

“Sir,  _ please _ .” He pouts. “Please let me come.”

“No.” Hank answers, simply. He softens the harshness of his voice with a stroke of his fingers across Connor’s abdomen, though he knows he doesn’t need to. Connor likes it when he’s sharp with him, likes him bossy. “I have a lot more of my lesson to teach, and an eager group of students to teach it to.” 

Connor swallows. “Yes, Professor.” His voice is hoarse. 

“I want you to turn over.” Hank tells him. “On the table. Onto your stomach.” 

Connor nods and does so carefully. Hank helps, since Connor’s whole body is shaking and he doesn’t want to have to drive his husband, ass naked, to a hospital because of an injury from falling off a table under less than usual circumstances. 

On his stomach he’s as pretty a picture as he is on his back, the muscles of his shoulders defined, ass soft and mouthwatering, especially with his legs just that little bit parted and the glistening from between them. Hank places his hands gently, almost reverently, onto Connor’s thighs. He feels the tickling of soft hair as his fingers hover above them, and then the cool of the skin that had been against the table.. He runs his hands down, squeezing just to watch the way his hands look so  _ big  _ on Connor. He reaches Connor’s calves, well below the join of his knee and just above his ankle, and pulls his legs together. 

With a grunt from himself and a shocked yelp from Connor, he manhandles him around until rather than lying lengthwise, he’s lying over the width of the table, facing the (now very clearly enjoying the show) audience. Hank pulls him around until he has him just how he wants him; top half on the table, hands gripping the edge again because as much as Connor adores being manhandled he doesn’t always trust that Hank won’t push him off of things when he does it, ass in the air in front of Hank. 

“Now it’s my turn.” Hank hums. 

He undoes his zip deliberately, as loud as he can make it. In front of him, Connor squirms. He doesn’t take his pants off, just pulls his cock out through the hole in the front of his boxers, gasping slightly at even just the touch of his hand. It feels like ice on a burn, and a primal part of him just wants to keep going on his own, so turned on it can’t bear the wait that he has planned before he comes.

He doesn’t speak as moves, lets the sound of his feet shuffling forward alert Connor to his actions. The inside of his shoe brushes against the outside of Connor’s ankle, prompting him to fidget more. Impatient brat. 

He reaches out and stills him at the waist, then leans over him to whisper in his ear.

“Stop moving, Connor. I’m not even going to fuck you yet.”

“H - yes, sir.” Connor swallows. 

Hank pats his ass. “Good boy.” He straightens up. His legs are right up against Connor's, Connor's feet outside of his. Hank's cock hangs hard and flushed from his fly, so very close to Connor's ass. Hank wraps his hand around himself and strokes a few times. He can't help the deep grunt he lets out with the feeling. He wants to plunge himself deep into Connor and ruin him, fuck him until Connor is a writhing mess in his arms, but that would ruin his plans. 

He pushes his hips forward, until his hand on outward strokes, brushes against Connor's ass. 

Connor shudders, from his head to his toes in a smooth motion. But he doesn't move. He cranes his head to look back at Hank with desperation lighting up his eyes, but he stays still. 

“Good boy. Still not going to fuck you.” Hank finger murmurs. “I want to test his resolve.” He tells the class. “For his final grade. If he can put up with my cock rubbing against him without moving and trying to get me to fuck him, he gets an A. Shouldn't be too hard, even for a little brat like him.” He strokes over the dip in Connor's back. “Got that, Connor?” 

“Yes, Professor.” He whimpers. 

“And will you be good and get an A?” 

“Yes, Professor. Please.” 

“Good boy.” 

Hank shuffles further forwards, pushing Connor's legs further apart and letting his cock bump against Connor's ass. He positions himself above the crack of his ass and gives an experimental push forwards. The friction catches his foreskin and then lets go, little bursts of pleasure.

He runs three fingers over the wet of Connor's pussy, so wet that when Hank pulls those fingers away he watches as Connor  _ drips _ over the edge of the table. Hank licks his lips and drags his eyes back up to his ass. He takes his cock in his wet hand and slicks himself up, groaning at the touch.

He wipes his fingers on his pants, letting his cock fall against Connor's ass again before he rubs his hands over Connor's cheeks and spreads them so that his cock falls between. 

Connor whines, face buried between his arms on the table, fingers tapping restlessly at the edge. Hank lets go of one cheek just long enough to give his back a reassuring rub. Connor drips onto the floor again. 

Hank holds Connor's ass apart but gives himself the perfect amount of friction as he starts pushing along his crease. He groans and lets his eyes shut, cutting out the sight of Connor's naked body and the worked up class in front of him but fully aware of them there. 

It’s not enough, but it’s all he’s getting now. The rub against the underside of his cock, how  _ warm  _ Connor is, how pliant and soft and good he is. Hank whimpers a small bit, still holding back from what he needs. Just rutting slowly against Connor. He forces his eyes open again to watch Connor make the noises he’s making, see how his back arches as he whimpers but keeps his ass still. Hank feels a surge of cold heat in his stomach.

Connor’s hands still scrabble at the edge of the table, like they’re looking for something deeper to hold onto than just wood and varnish, something that’ll get Hank to push inside and fill him up which - fuck. Hank wants. He wants just to fuck Connor to within an inch of his life, didn’t realise this would torture him as much as it is his partner. 

He picks up the pace, squeezing Connor’s cheeks together a little more, nails digging into his ass. He pretends not to notice when Connor starts to rock into it, up until Connor makes this low groan that makes his toes curl in his shoes. He digs his nails in more and stops moving, flush against that pretty ass. 

“Did I say you could move?” He tuts. 

“No sir. Sorry sir.” Connor whimpers, knuckles white, forehead pressed against the table.

“I think that deserves punishment doesn't it, Connor?” 

Connor drips onto the floor again. “Mh - yes sir.” 

Hank pats his ass. “Do you think I should spank you, Connor?” 

“ _ Yessir _ .” 

“Little too enthusiastic, there.” Hank says. “Someone might think you'd  _ enjoy  _ this punishment.” He projects his voice a little more with his next question. “What do you think, class? Should I spank him? Does he deserve it?”

The answer is a resounding - incredibly horny - yes. 

Hank bends over Connor and tugs on his hair to pick his face up off the table. 

“You okay with this, babe?” He asks, voice only for Connor now.

“ _ More  _ than okay, Hank.” Connor gasps. “Please just fuck - just do it. Punish me. I need it.” 

“Alright.” Hank's voice comes out a growl again. “Then keep that head up, make sure they can see that handsome face.” 

“Keep it up for me?”

“You asking me to pull your hair, brat?” 

“Yes,  _ Professor _ .” 

Hank snorts and stands upright again, grip tight on Connor's head. 

“You're lucky I want to, Connor.” 

“Thank you sir. Mmh.” 

Hank gives his hair an extra hard tug, pulling his head as far back as it'll come, then loosening it again. 

“Quiet, Connor. Time for your punishment.”

Connor doesn't try to snark or give him another breathy 'yes sir’. He does try to nod, pulling his own hair taught in Hank's fist.

Hank pulls his hips back until his cock falls away from Connor's ass.

“Legs together.” He orders. Connor complies quickly, thighs slapping with his haste. His ass is elevated, a little too high for Hank to rub up against, which is fine, because it's the perfect height for his hand. 

He pushes two fingers between Connor's labia to soak with his wet, and then sloppily spreads that down the crease of his thighs. Connor chokes out a whine, sussing what Hank is about to do just before Hank does it. Slides his cock between Connor's thighs, close enough to his pussy that he feels its heat, but far enough away that Connor will be throbbing and with no touch.

“Right.” Hank breathes. He's surrounded by Connor, the tight space between strong thighs. It's warm and dizzyingly hot, and he gives in and thrusts hard against him, just a taste of what's to come. Connor moans, head pulling forward more against Hank's hand. Hank keeps his grip, and gives a testing pat against Connor's ass. Connor tenses a little, a twitch of his legs around Hank. “I think ten, for now.” He leaves no room for discussion. Lifts his hand and pulls back his hips and starts with: “One.” 

His hand comes down on Connor's ass  _ hard _ . As it does, he fucks forward into Connor's thighs, feels them tense up around his cock with the smack. Connor moans low in the back of his throat, and when Hank’s hand comes away from his ass there’s already a print there, white outlined in pink. It’s the hardest Hank will spank him, so he takes a moment to admire it, trace it with his thumb and watch the colour shift when he presses down. 

“Beautiful.” He murmurs. “So beautiful.”

Connor shudders. Hank uses his thighs to get off, waiting for him to loosen up a little before continuing his punishment. 

“You know, I could get off just like this.” He sighs. “Come on your stomach - on your back - and leave you to finger yourself while everyone watches you.” 

Another shudder from Connor. Hank presses in against him, shirt becoming more and more sticky from the contact with Connor’s pussy. 

“I think that would be a pretty good punishment, eh? Instead of -” he lifts his hand and brings it down in a more shallow movement than the last (but not by much) “- two - this.”

“N - no.” Connor tries to shake his head, and Hank reminds him exactly why he  _ can’t _ by tugging his head to the side to whisper in his ear as he uses his thighs as a fleshlight. 

“I think this is a little too nice, Connor. A little too  _ enjoyable _ for you. You’ve been a bad student, maybe you deserve to be left hanging, for me to keep edgin’ you and leave you here. Covered in come but not filled like you wanna be.”

The noise that comes out of Connor at that is on par with the noise he releases with the third spank. A guttural whine, needy in a purely animal way. Hank fucks him faster, chasing a building pleasure in the pit of his gut. 

The fourth, fifth and sixth spanks are given in quick succession, mottling Connor’s ass pink and white, pretty and warmed to the touch. Hank has to force himself to slow his pace again, remind himself that he’s not trying to come, that he still has a couple of plans before he gets to do that.

Connor is fluid on the table, head held up only by Hank’s grip on his hair, like some kind of a trophy. He’s breathing heavily, torso shuddering with his breaths, and with each spank (seven now, eight) he yelps and then moans and Hank feels the slide of his wetness down the inside of his thighs, lubricating Hank’s cock with it. 

“Nine.” Hank announces, and then; “Ten. All done now, baby. You learned your lesson?”

“N - ah - no.” Connor grunts. “Need more.” 

“More, Connor?” Hank presses his hand against Connor’s ass. “I don’t think you understand. This is a  _ punishment _ .” 

“ _ More _ .” Connor ruts back against Hank, taking his cock as deep into the cradle of his thighs as he can. “Please, daddy.” 

Hank’s cock throbs at the drip of that word off his tongue. 

“Calling your teacher daddy now, Connor?” He teases, pressing against his lower back to keep him still on the table as he rocks into him. “You need your daddy that bad?” 

Connor moans. “Yes.” He answers back. He cranes his neck to meet Hank’s eye. “Need daddy’s  _ cock _ .”

Hank’s hips stutter, a swell in his arousal that he forces down because he’s far too close, far far too tempted to chase that and come all down Connor’s pretty legs. He groans and bends over Connor, pressing his forehead between his shoulder blades and repeating again and again in his head ‘ _ do not come, do not come, do not come’.  _

“Not yet, Connor.” He growls. “Be patient.” 

Connor whines in frustration and Hank and spanks him one last time, reward or punishment he’s not sure. He steps back and without warning falls to his knees behind Connor. It’ll bruise later, but he doesn’t care. 

“Next lesson.” His voice booms, resonating around the hall. “Every boy needs his daddy.” 

He parts Connor’s cheeks with his hands and licks a stripe over his hole. Connor yelps again, puckering under Hank’s tongue. Hank hears his head fall onto the table, no longer held up by anything and just as liquid as the rest of him.

“Head up.” He orders. “Make sure they see that face. Make sure everybody can hear you beg, too.”

“Yes sir.” Connor moans. “Yes, daddy.” 

“Good.”

Hank pushes his face into Connor’s ass again. He runs his tongue around Connor’s hole, tiny licks over it before he presses it inside. Connor is tight around him, loosening up as Hank fucks his tongue in over and over again, licking deeper each time. 

“Fuck, sir.” Connor moans into the air, managing to keep his head held above the table, good. “Please. Professor  _ please _ . Deeper, please.” He breathes heavily. “Daddy,  _ fuck _ .”

Hank does his best to push his tongue in deep, shifts and wiggles it inside Connor to see just how many different ways he can get him to moan. His cock throbs, still hanging from his pants, aching every time the cool air of the room shifts around it. He spreads Connor’s ass as wide as he can to fuck him quick with his tongue, pushing it as deep and as hard as he can inside of him, nose bumping his tailbone with every thrust. 

“Please, sir. Your cock. Want your cock, daddy.” Connor whines. “Need it.”

Hank can’t take it anymore, he scrambles to his feet again and steadies himself from the blood rushing around by grasping Connor’s hips in his hands. 

“Spread your legs.” He orders. Connor complies, thighs unsticking from each other with strings of wet hanging between them, thick and dripping. Connor’s already such a mess, Hank can’t wait to fuck him messier. 

He tests Connor’s pussy with two fingers, mouth watering when they slide in easy, no resistance. He slicks up his cock with what’s on Connor’s legs, and guides the head to Connor’s pussy with one hand. 

“Be patient.” He orders. 

Connor completely ignores him, of course. He shifts his hips backwards to take Hank’s cock inside of him, pressing back and back until he’s buried balls deep and Connor’s ass is flush against his stomach. 

Hank groans and takes Connor by the hair. 

“What did I say about patient?” He growls. “You want me to fuck you rough, Connor? Want me to fuck you hard, so everyone can see what you can take?” 

“ _ Yes _ .” Connor’s moan is high pitched, he fidgets on Hank’s cock and Hank uses his other hand to keep him still.

“Alright.” Hank leans over him to speak into the back of his neck. “Then I’ll fuck you hard. You stay nice and still and you  _ take  _ it. And you don’t get to come until I have. I’m not touching your dick until I’ve stuffed you full, you hear me?”

“Yes, daddy.” Connor’s voice reverberates through Hank’s head from where he has his forehead against him. 

“Good boy.”

Hank pulls out of him almost all of the way, watching the pull of his cock on Connor’s labia. Then he slams back into him, pushing moans from deep in his throat. He fucks Connor fast, and rough, taking his hand out of his hair to properly grip his waist as he pounds him. Connor is helpless, all wild moans and eyes rolling back as he lies and takes every inch of it. Hank can feel the difference inside of Connor, where his stomach is elevated off of the table and where it isn’t, the tightness of him. 

He feels the wet building on the front of his pants as he draws it out of Connor, making a mess of the both of them. Connor’s ass is still red from spanking and Hank grabs at it, squeezing to hear the tight moan he gets in response. He’s so close, so close, so close. Connor wet and hot around his cock, those sounds he’s making pushing Hank closer to the brink of coming, and the scene in front of him. Connor spread over that table with a class of people in front of them, hands in laps, dazed, lustful expressions on their faces. 

Hank comes deep inside of Connor, pushing his cock into him as far as he can, bending double over him as he releases. Connor groans, low and fulfilled as he feels himself getting filled, and Hank squeezes that red ass tight. 

He stays inside of Connor as he clumsily reaches his other hand around to tug Connor off. Connor squeaks at first, tensing at this first bit of touch after so long getting nothing. But then he goes boneless, nothing but noise and pleasure under Hank as Hank speeds his hand up and brings him off, getting Connor to shiver and buck as he comes only a half a minute later.

They lie for a while, until Hank’s not sure his legs will keep him up much longer, and he slides out of Connor and sits in the desk chair that had at some point been shoved away from its table. Connor remains lying there, legs spread, Hank’s come dripping from his flushed, used pussy. He tilts slightly to the side and looks back at Hank with a dazed grin.

“Want you to clean me up with your tongue.” He hums happily. Hank snorts and pulls himself up again to bend behind Connor and lap between his lips. Connor makes a small overstimulated ‘ _ ah _ ’ and flinches, but loosens into it and sighs as Hank tastes his own come spilling from him. 

He straightens up, once he’s decided that Connor is sufficiently clean, and with a grin announces: “Class dismissed.”

**Author's Note:**

> the ending i didnt write: theres lots of aftercare and discussion about this between both hank and connor and the rest of the group. also hank tells connor to sit down and relax while they go about cleaning the place and connor refuses and starts bossing everyone around bc thats who he is. then they all go home and hank and connor order pizza even because that was a lot of exercise. the end.
> 
> thank you for reading! hit me up on twitter @robotwunk if you want more hankcon and/or pictures of my rats! and please leave a comment! i eat them to live!


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